Promise
by WriterandDaydreamer4218
Summary: Pietro Maximoff died in the Battle Of Sokovia. Well, not really. Instead, he decided to stay on Earth as a spirit. There's just one problem-no one can see or hear him, which can make conversation difficult. Of course, Pietro is nothing if not determined-which means he'll be meeting death on his own terms, once he ties up a few loose ends and he can truly 'move on'.


**Hi everybody! This is just a little 'short story' I thought up after I watched the** ** _Sixth Sense._** **It's probably not going to be very long; it's just an idea I really wanted to play around with. Tell me what you think.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers. 'Nuff said.**

 **Enjoy!**

Pietro had never realized what real darkness really felt like.

In his bedroom back in his apartment building, he'd always had a night light that his mother lit every night before he went to sleep so he wouldn't be scared if he woke up sometime in the predawn hours before the sun rose. Even if he did happen to get scared and run to his parents' bed, he'd always had his mother to sing him folk songs about powerful dragons and courageous knights and his father to tell him funny stories that would make him laugh until he cried. Darkness never seemed so scary when he was laughing.

How things had changed.

Now his bedroom had been blown two floors below him, his parents would never again comfort him after a nightmare-would never do anything ever again, actually-and he couldn't remember how to laugh.

He could still picture it all clearly as he relived it over and over in his mind's eye-how the bomb had blasted through the roof and landed in the middle of their dinner table. For a moment the family had just stared at it, unable to comprehend the fact that there was a ticking time bomb inside their apartment. Even after all the bombs and all the air raids, their apartment had been a sacred place. Nothing had been able to harm them while they were safely in its walls-not until now, at least. Their parents had bolted to their feet after what seemed like nightmares but was probably only a few seconds and told him and his twin sister, Wanda, to step away from the table-now.

A second later, the bomb had gone off and their parents had been blown apart like the rest of their apartment building. Wanda had screamed so loudly it had given him a headache, but Pietro had still acted on instinct, grabbed her hand, and pulled her under the bed in the next room-the only room in the house still intact. They'd huddled there for a long time, listening to the rubble move and shift over their heads and wondering if they would die too.

Pietro knew better than to think his parents were alive. Nothing could survive an explosion like that at such close range. It had been only a stroke of pure luck that he and Wanda had been far enough away to be safe from the blast.

But only just.

And then the next shell had come, soft as a whisper. They'd both screamed that time; Wanda had clung to his sweatshirt and soaked it with her tears. He'd held her as tightly as he could, unwilling to let her go even for a second. She was all he had left; if he could protect her, he wouldn't be alone. And that was what terrified him most-the idea of surviving this alone.

They waited and waited, but the bomb never went off. They didn't speak; they just held their breath and waited. Pietro was scared to move, talk, and even think. He'd learned about shells and bombs in school; even the tiniest movement could set one off.

"Are we going to die?" Wanda asked quietly, wiping her eye on the edge of the quilt that hung off the edge of the bed.

"No. Of course no." he said with more confidence than he felt. "Someone will find us. They'll save us."

"Mother and Father are dead." It wasn't a statement; they were scared, not stupid.

"I think so. We're orphans."

"If we survive, what do you think they'll do with us? Will they split us up?"

"No. We're staying together-no matter what." At that moment, he made a promise-not just to himself but to his sister as well-if by some miracle they managed to survive this, he was never going to leave her ever again.

The dark pressed in around them, cold and sinister. "I'm scared. Do you remember any stories?"

Pietro tried to recall some, but they all escaped his mind. Fear had wiped his brain completely, made it feel like a blank slate. "No. Do you?"

"I forgot. It's really dark down here."

"There's nothing to be frightened of." Except the bomb. And the shadow demons that slunk around houses at night, stealing children and using their organs for dark spells. "And even if there was, I won't let you get hurt. No matter what."

"What if you die before me?"

"I won't."

"But what if you do?" she said stubbornly. "Promise me you won't leave me, Pietro."

It was a promise he knew he could never keep, even at the age of ten. But Wanda was looking at him so hopefully, like he was the brave knight in one of their mother's stories who chased away the bad dragon. That look, so full of trust and love, made him feel brave and even a little bit reckless.

That was when he knew that, whatever happened, they would be okay. They would always have each other. There was no other alternative.

"I promise."

~0~

Day 1

The people of Sokovia had always associated death with the season of winter.

Winter was dangerous. Winter was the season of cold-of failed crops, famine, and frostbite. Winter was the season of cold winds that killed the weak-the old, the sick, and the little babies not yet weaned from their cradles.

But more than that, people said that the cold was actually death itself.

Pietro had always thought that was simply superstition, something old wise women told in the dark to frighten little children. He always thought death would be blazing hot-the last fire, the last hurrah before your soul moved on.

As it turned out, death was neither.

In fact, at first Pietro didn't realize he was dead.

It had been quick and fast-one second he'd been throwing himself between the Quinjet and the archer and the next he was on the ground in sheer agony. He hadn't mean to die, honestly. He'd thought he would have more time. He'd been sure he could be faster than the bullets.

But for once in his life he'd been too slow.

His body was in agony. He could feel the bullets ripping through his body and the blood pouring from his chest. He felt hot and cold, almost feverish. He knew he was going to die. It came as a shock to him-although it wasn't a completely unwelcome prospect. It was done. He was done. All the experimentation, all the tests…it was all over. He'd gone down a hero-and now he could rest. Maybe he could even go home.

 _Oh God. Wanda_

He was going to leave her all alone. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

The world seemed to blur and grow around him; the many bullet wounds that punctured his chest still throbbed dully. For once nothing mattered-not the frantic cries of the few pedestrians still in the city, not the archer's constant checking a pulse. For the first time in his life, Pietro Maximoff simply waited, too tired to fight.

He waited for death.

And then, slowly, the pain in his chest began to recede until it vanished completely. Pietro probed his wounds gently, surprised when he didn't find them still oozing red blood. In fact, aside from the bullet holes that riddled his back, chest, and side he felt totally and completely fine. Normal, even.

He sat up gingerly, waiting for a flash of red hot pain and a wave of agony. It never came. That was his first clue that something was wrong. Extremely wrong. "It's all right, Clint. I'm fine. See? The bullets just grazed-" He cut off midsentence.

The archer was kneeling on the ground beside him-and it almost looked like he was crying.

 _No, that's impossible._ "Clint." Pietro said, trying to get his attention. "Old man! I'm…what is the word… okay. I'm not in pain. Why are you so upset?"

It was like the archer couldn't hear him. "Damn you, kid! When I said that, I didn't…I didn't mean that I wanted you to…Wanda is going to kill me."

"Stop talking me like I'm not right here. I'm fine. Now, where is my sister?"

Just then, Steve Rogers ran up to them. He looked unharmed, except for a few scratches and a dirty shield. "We have to get to the boats. Tony created a heat seal but we need-" He broke off when he saw the pair. "What happened?"

"I was trying to protect this kid…he was out in the marketplace and Ultron was going to shoot him…I thought _This is it. I'm going to die._ And I was ready for it, too. But then I feel this breeze-and then he's standing in front of me, the bullets are pouring out of the Quinjet thick and fast, and I can't more to stop him. The next thing I know, the plane's gone and he's on the ground with seven bullets in his chest." Clint was talking way too fast; Pietro could barely understand him.

"Did you take a pulse? Is he-"

"Dead. Steve, he died protecting me. He didn't have to. I never asked him to-"

"Clint, calm down."

"I should be dead instead of him. I'm the one that should've been shot."

The joke-because that was all this was, just a really stupid prank-was definitely starting to get old. "Okay, guys. I get it. It's not funny. You can stop pretending now."

"Don't blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done. He did what he did knowing full well what the consequences would be-and he stepped in front of the jet anyway. It's not your fault, Clint. I swear."

Just then, the city began to shake alarmingly. Steve looked up at the sky and grimaced. "We need to move the body. Once we get back to New York we can mourn properly-and give him a sendoff as befits an Avenger. What do you think?"

Clint nodded wearily. "He's one of us now. They both are."

A terrible thought was beginning to dawn on Pietro. Clint and Steve didn't really seem to be the practical joke types. But the other option was equally unlikely-he was dead and yet he hadn't moved on. He turned around to look behind him, in case there was anyone else he could talk to about all of this-but there was no one there.

At least, no one living.

Instead, he looked down upon his own corpse.

~IABH~

It wasn't as terrifying as Pietro had always thought it would be. There were no dark pits instead of eyes, blood dripping from his mouth, or rotting flesh showing the tips of exposed bone. Instead, he almost looked like he was sleeping-albeit with his eyes staring into blank space, open and glassy.

 _I'd like to wake up now._ He pinched himself-hard. Whatever this was, it was one very weird dream. If he just pinched hard enough, he'd find himself back in his cot at the HYDRA prison-but at least he'd be with Wanda and wouldn't be witnessing his own death.

Nothing happened. He remained where he was, on a deserted street corner in Sokovia and decidedly dead.

 _No…_ He'd made her a promise, all those years ago. He'd promised he wouldn't leave her. She needed him. He needed her. Death didn't factor into the equation they'd written for themselves.

So why could he suddenly reach through solid objects? Now that he thought about it, he didn't even feel human. He felt lighter…like he was walking on air. No, that wasn't exactly it either-he was made of air.

He saw a red door on the other street. It didn't look out of place, but he knew it was different. Somehow he knew that once he went through that door he would truly be dead-and then he would have to face whatever awaited him after death. He was ashamed to admit it, but he had always feared the unknown. He didn't know what he would see when he passed through that door or where he would go. Worst of all, Wanda wouldn't be with him the way she'd always been.

It was a combination of fear and love that made him turn away from that door and follow Clint and Steve back to the waiting transports.

He'd made a promise to Wanda. Granted, they had only been ten-but he always kept his word. Especially this promise. He wasn't about to break it now-especially not for something as trivial as death. He would figure something out. He always had.

He wasn't moving on. Not when he had so much to do back on earth.

~0~

Pietro sat on the floor in the corner of the transport, tracing a picture with his fingertip on the hard steel. He was surrounded by survivors. They all had the same haunted look in their eyes-the look that said they had seen things no one should have to see.

Clint sat down on one side of the corpse while Steve took the other, almost as if they were standing guard. A medic tried to attend to a wound on Clint's shoulder, but the archer waved him away firmly. "I'm fine." he explained. "It's just been a long day."

Steve sighed and began to clean his shield in calm and measured strokes. "They're too young. We should never have let them see active duty, no matter how bad things were. This is our job. Not theirs."

"They shouldn't be dying in a profession they haven't been fully initiated into yet." Clint glanced down and sighed. "He'll need a burial."

"Yeah. Maybe in the courtyard of the Tower, since we can't exactly fly the body back to Sokovia. We can plant a tree over the grave or something like that. Something tells me the kid would like that."

And Pietro did appreciate the gesture. Very much so. He wanted to tell them so…and he thought he should probably thank them for giving him a second chance when he hadn't really deserved one. But he knew they couldn't hear him and he didn't want to waste his breath.

"What about the sister?"

"She'll probably hate us. And I don't blame her, considering she just lost the one remaining family member she had left. But I think we should offer her a place on the team, if she wants to take it. She fought well today and we could use a power like that. And if she doesn't-"

"Cash. Enough to get her started someplace new. A new identity, if she wants it. All the things she needs to start over."

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Everyone seemed tired-unbelievably bone weary and exhausted from strain and worry. The two Avengers seemed like soldiers returning home after years of service-not mere hours. Then again, Pietro supposed battle did that to you.

In a way, they had all become ghosts-drifting toward an unknown purpose.

They all needed to start over.

~0~

The helicarrier was crowded with even more of the survivors, all looking for their missing family members. They pelted question after question at Clint and Steve as the Avengers pushed through the crowd, carrying the body on a homemade stretcher. Many people were missing; several transports were still unaccounted for. Pietro took a minute to glance out the window to see if he could see anything. They sky was cloudy in all directions as the clouds gathered to weep tears down upon the broken city.

Finally, they reached a small receiving room off a crowded hallway filled with the wounded. Inside, the room was mercifully quiet. The other Avengers surrounded a long wooden table-Natasha, Thor, and Tony. James Rhodes, a man Pietro had heard about but never seen, had also joined them. He didn't see Wanda, Vision, or Dr. Banner anywhere.

Natasha's jaw dropped when she saw the body. "Oh no. What happened?"

"We'll talk about it later." Steve said quickly. "Where are the others?" It was obvious he hoped there had been no more casualties.

"Banner left in a quinjet. We think he's all right, but he hasn't been in touch. He's in stealth mode, so we can't track him." She spoke in a quick and guarded tone, as if it was best not to dwell on it for too long. "Vision went to get Wanda once it became clear the city wouldn't last much longer. Neither one of them have returned yet." Pietro felt a cold fist in his stomach. If Wanda had already died….

Tony looked at the body and sighed. "Anyone want a beer?" It was almost laughable, but what else could they do? There would be press conferences to attend and meeting to hold once they reached New York, but for right now they were just a team mourning the loss of one of their own.

Just then, the door burst open and Wanda and Vision rushed inside. Wanda's eyes were rimmed with red and streaked with tears. _She knows. She felt it._ "Where is my brother?" she cried. "Where is Pietro?"

Pietro saw Steve and Tony exchange a glance, as if silently debating who was going to say what. As it turned out, they didn't need to say anything.

Wanda saw the body herself.

She let out a wail of grief, seeming to crumple into herself as she dropped down next to the body of her brother. Pietro cursed himself yet again; he had to find a way out. She shouldn't have to go through this; shouldn't have to see her worst fears confirmed. Her fingers scrabbled for his and she cradled him close, as though he was just sleeping and not dead. "Is he…?"

"Yes." Steve said. "He died a hero-defending an innocent child and a fellow Avenger."

"He wasn't supposed to die! There were enough ships…why wasn't he on a ship? This wasn't supposed to happen!" She was half hysterical, trying to find a sign of life in the cold body in her arms. "He told me…he promised me..."

 _And here I am._ Pietro wanted her to hear his voice. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair to let her know he was there-but he couldn't. Wanda was in her world and he was in his-and he couldn't seem to find a way to break through.

Still, he felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest and crushed underfoot. It had been an impossible decision to make. Clint's two (soon to be three) kids would grow up with a father. They would do everything Pietro had never been able to do-picnics in the park, school concerts, career day. They would be able to go to their father when they needed advice. And yet by sparing them from a very different fate he'd given his own life and left his sister devastated. He didn't regret the choice he'd made, but he hated seeing Wanda cry.

"I'm sorry." Clint said. "It's my fault-"

She didn't seem to be listening. "I just…I need a few minutes alone with him."

"Of course. Take all the time you need." Steve said, ushering everyone else out so the twins could have their privacy.

Wanda waited until she was sure she was alone before she spoke again-and this time she spoke directly to the body. "I hate you. You promised me, that night in the apartment. Don't you remember? You said you wouldn't leave me."

"And I didn't. I'm still here" Pietro reached for her, but his hand passed right through her shoulder. "I'm not going to leave you. I'm going to find a way out of this. I'm going to make this right." He didn't know how, but there had to be a way out of this. Resurrections weren't all that uncommon, were they?

"How am I supposed to go on? You were…everything to me. My other half. My comfort. My protection in tough times. The only constant thing I could ever rely on; my sun by day and stars by night. What am I supposed to do now? Where do I go from here? I have nothing-and it's your fault. You died a hero, which I suppose is some comfort, but you still died." Pietro's new shirt, which he'd been so proud of the night before, was stained with her tears.

"Be an Avenger. Steve, Clint…even Tony…they'll all look after you. You can avenge me. Avenge us."

"I just want to be with you. Please tell me this is just a nightmare. I want to wake up." Her voice was rising in frequency until she was practically screaming. Pietro knew it was only a matter of time before her powers went nuclear. "Why can't I wake up?"

He had no words for her-nothing that would come even close to easing the pain. "I'm sorry. I'll fix this." This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

She obviously couldn't hear him. She paused for a moment, as if waiting for something-maybe for him. Eventually, once she realized nothing was going to happen, she sighed and let out another small sob and lay down on the floor so she was facing her brother. She was crying as if her heart would break-and Pietro could provide no words of comfort-not even a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. The only thing he could do was stay by her side.

So he did, as she shed all the tears she had-until she was just an empty shell, eyes bleary and wet with tears. There would be time to move on and move forward…but now was the time to grieve, when the wound was fresh and the hurt was especially painful.

It seemed a long time before there was a tentative knock on the door. "Miss Maximoff? Are you in there?" a smooth British accent asked.

"Come in." Wanda replied.

The Vision stepped inside, holding two cups of tea. "I am sorry for your loss. I did not know Pietro personally, but he was a brave fighter and an even more courageous Avenger. He loved you very deeply, more than you will ever know. I hope you realize how much you meant to him. He would never try to hurt your feelings in this way."

She nodded. "I know. I just wish…"

"Wish what?"

"…many things. It doesn't matter, really. I wish I would have had a chance to say goodbye, in person. I wanted to be with him. Instead, we were just in separate parts of the city. If I had been there I could have used telekinesis…I thought we were saved. I thought he was safe. And now I've lost him. I've lost everything."

"You were doing your job. Nobody can fault you for that-least of all yourself. And perhaps, if that is the way you feel, you can find new people to care for. You will not forget what you've lost, but it could serve to help you feel more complete."

"Why does it have to hurt so much?"

Pietro wanted to say something to reassure her, but he couldn't. He was trapped behind a wall of silence that he couldn't break-so the android had to break it for him.

Vision considered the question carefully, the way he considered everything. "I may not know much about human emotions, but I do know that love is extremely comfortable. It can drive humans to do great and terrible things-or it can destroy them completely. But it is worth it. Love is always worth it." When he didn't get a response, he slowly sat down next to her. She didn't protest.

The three of them-android, human, and (mostly) ghost-kept vigil long into the night.

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